A Cruise for Cinderella E-Book

Vivian Stuart

• Herausgeber: Jentas Ehf
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

INTRIGUE. TENSION. LOVE AFFAIRS: In The Historical Romance series, a set of stand-alone novels, Vivian Stuart builds her compelling narratives around the dramatic lives of sea captains, nurses, surgeons, and members of the aristocracy. Stuart takes us back to the societies of the 20th century, drawing on her own experience of places across Australia, India, East Asia, and the Middle East.    "You're not his kind of girl!" A gloriously romantic Mediterranean cruise, and a new wardrobe! It seemed like a dream come true to Janie. And so was her dream of Prince Charming. Paul Cortes, the handsome, famous Spanish bullfighter, seemed to be falling in love with her. But David McNab insisted that the dream was impossible. "Like calls to like, Janie," he said. "And you're not like him–you're like me!" Could David possibly be right?

Leseprobe

A Cruise for Cinderella

A Cruise for Cinderella

© Vivian Stuart, 1956

© eBook in English: Jentas ehf. 2022

ISBN: 978-9979-64-477-4

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas ehf.

CHAPTER ONE

THE DOORBELL shrilled an impatient summons. Mrs. Brown said, “Will you answer it, Janie? It’ll be the insurance man, I expect,” and went on with her springcleaning.

Janie obediently opened the door. She was wearing an apron that had belonged to her mother and was several sizes too big, and her soft dark curls were concealed beneath the all-enveloping folds of a scarf. She opened her mouth to greet the insurance man and closed it again in some confusion, for the caller was a stranger—a slim, glamorous young woman in an impeccable black suit, who regarded her without much interest and asked distantly, “Is Miss Jane Brown at home? I’d like to speak to her.”

“Oh!” Janie was startled and drew back a pace into the narrow hall. “I—I’m Jane Brown.”

“Are you?” said the visitor, in the tone of one who has received a shock but is determined not to show it. A pair of intelligent blue eyes studied Janie’s flushed young face, and then the caller smiled and, clicking open her handbag, she produced a printed card. “My name is Fielden, Sonia Fielden, and I represent the organizers of the Graphic Theaters Cinderella Competition, Miss Brown. I came to tell you that your entry has been awarded second prize. Congratulations, my dear! May I come in?”

“Oh—oh, yes, please do,” Janie invited, still confused. “I’m afraid the house is all upside down. We— we’re spring-cleaning, you see, and—”

“Please don’t worry about that,” Miss Fielden put in swiftly. She looked around her, seeing the piled furniture and the rolled-up carpets. From the kitchen across the hall came the sound of expert scrubbing and Mrs. Brown’s cheerful if unmelodious rendering of “Three Coins in the Fountain.”

“Your mother?” the visitor suggested. “Won’t you call her, Miss Brown? Then you can both listen to the good news together. I’m sure your mother will be thrilled to hear what a wonderful prize you’ve won.”

“Yes,” Janie agreed faintly. “Yes, I’m sure she will. Only—” she hesitated. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember any details of the prize list.

The Cinderella competition had been organized by a chain of suburban theaters, just before Christmas, and Janie had entered it without the slightest hope of winning one of the major prizes. The first prize, she recalled suddenly, had been a gorgeous red sports car and two weeks in the south of France. But the second . . . goodness, hadn’t the second prize been a cruise? A Mediterranean cruise on a luxury liner, four whole weeks of romance and sunshine. . . .

Janie sat down abruptly on one of the rolls of carpet. “Have I really won the cruise?” she asked, in a small, frightened voice. “The—the Mediterranean cruise?”

Miss Fielden’s smile was warm. “Indeed you have, my dear. A four-week cruise on the S.S. Goldinia, to Gibraltar, Naples, Athens, Istanbul, Dubrovnik and Barcelona—and a complete new wardrobe, which I’m to help you choose.”

“Oh,” faltered Janie. “oh—” she burst into tears.

“I’ll call your mother,” said Miss Fielden practically. “I think what we all need is the proverbial cup of tea, don’t you?”

Over their tea, served in the newly scrubbed kitchen, the caller went into efficient detail. First there was a choice of dates for the cruise—Janie might pick whichever one suited her best. Then there was her outfit. This could be chosen at once, if she wanted it, and was to include an evening dress designed specially for her by a famous West End fashion designer. She might also, if she wished, Miss Fielden added kindly, have her hair restyled.

Janie touched her scarf with trembling hands and tried vainly to believe it all. It didn’t seem possible, somehow. It couldn’t, it simply couldn’t, be happening to her! She must, she told herself dazedly, she must be dreaming. In a moment or two, she would wake up, the caller— this poised, smiling fairy godmother who had materialized so unexpectedly from another world—would be gone and only Janie and her mother would be left in the small, disordered house, sipping tea, before going on with the spring-cleaning. Because things like this, marvelous things, just didn’t happen, except in dreams. . . .

“Janie—” Her mother’s voice shook a little and seemed to Janie to be coming from a long way off.

“I—yes, mom?” Janie turned her head and saw, with astonishment, that there were tears in her mother’s dark eyes.

“Miss Fielden’s talking to you,” Mrs. Brown admonished gently.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry. I’m afraid I—didn’t hear.”

“I wanted you to tell me a little about your background,” Miss Fielden answered briskly. She took a notebook from her bag and waited, pencil poised, smiling encouragingly at Janie. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one?” Miss Fielden echoed. She sounded surprised. ‘Well, that’s a nice age. And what do you do, for a living, I mean? Have you a job?”

“I’m a typist,” Janie said. She added shyly, “In a lawyer’s office. I’m secretary to one of the partners.”

“That’s interesting. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been there since I left business college.” She did like it, Janie reminded herself. She had a good, safe job, was well paid and had earned promotion. But it was dull. Harmer, Coates and Harmer was an old established firm, dealing for the most part with wills and country estates. They never handled criminal cases, seldom appeared in court, and the three partners were all well over sixty. Yet, until that moment, Janie had never paused to think whether or not she liked her job. She had simply done it, to the best of her ability, for the past five years. She stared at her questioner. “Actually, it’s not very interesting,” she confessed. “I mean, nothing much happens.”

Miss Fielden suppressed a smile. “Well, I expect it keeps you busy. And what do you do with your spare time?”

Janie flushed. “I help mom. We—we run a little laundry, here at home. Just the two of us.”

“That’s very enterprising of you,” Miss Fielden approved. She glanced questioningly at Mrs. Brown, who launched into a not very coherent explanation of how their small business was run.

They had started it together almost two years ago, when Janie’s father had been disabled and had to resign from the navy with an artificial right arm in place of the one he had lost when a jet aircraft exploded on the flight deck of his carrier. His pension was small, and his present job in a nearby factory didn’t bring in enough for the needs of a hungry, school-age family. The laundry had made all the difference to all of them. Only it had its disadvantages, Janie reflected—mom worked much too hard and dad hated her having to do so; the rest of the street called it “taking in washing” and didn’t approve; and Janie herself found it a tie, because it occupied most of her spare time. But still, they had made it pay, she and mom, and they were proud of the fact.

Miss Fielden asked several shrewd pertinent questions, then she turned to Janie again. Skillfully, she continued to ask questions, getting Janie to talk about herself, her work and her friends. Mrs. Brown listened in silence, occasionally putting in a word when her daughter stumbled.

“The object of this competition,” Miss Fielden explained, closing her notebook at last, “was to find three girls who really needed a fairy godmother to make their dreams come true. We asked, if you remember, for a short essay on what you would wish for if you were given three wishes. That was why we called it a Cinderella competition.” She smiled at Janie. “The prizewinners are going to be Cinderellas in real life. We had a very eminent psychologist to judge the essays. I didn’t see your entry, of course—all the essays were considered in the strictest confidence—but I understand that it impressed the judge very much, Miss Brown.”

“There,” sighed Mrs. Brown, “there! Just fancy that. Oh, Janie, love, I’m so proud of you.”

Janie lowered her gaze. She could not look at her mother, she was too ashamed. For she had wished, she remembered, for the chance, just once, to look beautiful, to know, however briefly, what it was like to be in love with a Prince Charming and to watch, in his arms, the moon rising over a tropical sea. . . .

“I wouldn’t mind,” she had written, “what happened to me afterward, so long as I had one perfect memory to look back on, all the rest of my life.” It wasn’t true, really, Janie thought wildly. She’d written her essay when she returned home after going to a movie, when the spell was still upon her, wrapping her up in a world of fantasy, of foolishness, of vain, improbable dreams. If she’d really been given three wishes she wouldn’t have wasted them thus—she’d have asked for practical, commonsense things, for security, for a good, kind, reliable husband and a home of her own, for health and happiness, for money for her weary, harassed father, a holiday for her mother.

“I didn’t mean what I wrote,” she began.

Miss Fielden cut her short. “This is no time to admit it,” she pointed out dryly, “when your essay’s won you the prize you wanted. I’m sure it must have been extremely good—there were over eight thousand entries, you know.” She patted Janie’s hand. “It’s been a shock to you, you’re feeling confused. But you’ll get used to it. Now then, let’s see—” She referred to some papers she took from her handbag. “The Goldina’s next cruise starts on the fifteenth, the one after that on the twelfth of next month. When could you get away?”

“I—” Janie glanced quickly at her mother. It was impossible for her to go. Her holiday from the office was due, admittedly, but she had planned to spend it relieving her mother, giving her the break she so badly needed. The fifteenth was out of the question—besides, she was only entitled to two weeks and this cruise would last four weeks. And in June . . . .

“The fifteenth,” Mrs. Brown announced firmly. She silenced Janie’s protests with a quick, reassuring smile. “We’ll close the laundry down, love, if we can’t get someone to take it on. You’re going to have your cruise, make no mistake about that. Would the fifteenth suit?” she asked Miss Fielden anxiously. Her hand found Janie’s and held it tight. “You can ask Mr. Harmer to give you the extra two weeks. Or I’ll ask him for you,” she added beneath her breath.

Miss Fielden referred efficiently to her papers. “Oh, yes, the fifteenth will be quite all right. It gives us a clear couple of weeks, doesn’t it? Plenty of time, except perhaps for the Simon evening dress.” She eyed Janie’s small, overthin figure with cool, professional interest. “Still, I expect they’ll manage it. Now, about your companion—you’re allowed to take anyone you like as your guest, you know. Who shall it be? A girl friend, one of your sisters? Or are you engaged?”

Janie shook her head, feeling the color rush to her cheeks. “No, I’m not engaged.” She looked across at her mother. “Mom, you—I’d like you to come.”

For a long moment her mother didn’t answer. Her eyes, Janie saw, were bright with the glint of tears. When at last she spoke, her voice was husky.

“It’s ever so sweet of you, Janie. But what would I do on a cruise? And there’s dad and the others, who’d look after them if I went? It’s ever so sweet of you and I do appreciate it, but I’ve got to say no. You take someone else, one of the girls from your office, perhaps. You’d have more fun with someone your own age, wouldn’t you? Having me, why, it’d cramp your style, love. You know it would.”

“It wouldn’t,” Janie objected loyally, “it wouldn’t, mom. And you need a holiday.”

“My sort of holiday,” Mrs. Brown returned gently, “is a week at Southend, Janie, with dad and the family. I wouldn’t know what to do on a cruise. You have your cruise and enjoy it—after all, it’s your prize. Isn’t it, Miss Fielden?”

Miss Fielden nodded briskly. “Indeed it is, Mrs. Brown. But if it would help you to enjoy it more, Janie—I may call you that, mayn’t I—you needn’t take a guest with you on the cruise if you don’t want to. You could have the money instead. I think one first-class fare on the Goldinia would pay for a holiday at Southend for your mother and father and the family and leave something over for a rainy day, if they weren’t too extravagant. How about that? It’s only a suggestion—you can think it over if you want to. We want our Cinderella to enjoy her dream holiday without any worries—just as if we’d waved a magic wand to drive them away. Well—” she rose “—I’ll leave you now. Talk things over with your mother and let me know what you decide. I’ll call for you—” she glanced at her watch and held out her hand “—after lunch, shall I? And we’ll go shopping.”

“Shopping?” Janie questioned. Her eyes were huge in her small, pale face. “But isn’t that a bit—well, soon? I mean—”

“Janie,” interrupted Miss Fielden, “there’s the presentation of your prize on the stage of the Graphic on Wednesday night. We’ve got to get you a dress and see about your hair. There will be photographers, reporters wanting to interview you, publicity. Today’s Saturday and I expect you’ll be at work on Monday.”

“Photographers?” Janie echoed, appalled. “Reporters? Oh, but—”

Miss Fielden smiled. “Of course. But it won’t be such an ordeal as you imagine. And there’ll be no publicity when you go for your cruise. No one on board the Goldinia will know who you are, if you don’t want them to. I’ll take care of that. You see, the competition was organized in order to publicize our film Cinderella, and the appearance of our prizewinners, before and after their dream holidays, will be all that we’ll ask of them. Wednesday will be the first night of the film—you’ll want to look your best for that, won’t you?”

“Yes, but—” Janie’s cheeks flamed scarlet “—I don’t need a—a lot of clothes. Not even for the cruise, I mean. Not really. If we—if mom and I had the money instead, we—”

Miss Fielden slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Listen, Janie,” she said kindly, “you can accept this prize or not, as you wish. But if you do accept it. you must obey the rules. I told you that the object of the competition was to find three girls who would play the real-life role of Cinderella and to give each of them the holiday of her dreams, with a dream wardrobe and everything that goes with it. We hope that each of our Cinderellas will find her fairy prince—we want to transform her with a wave of our magic wand, give her lovely clothes and the chance to wear them in a romantic setting. You’ve won this prize, Janie. You’re going to take it, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Brown answered for her. “Of course she is, Miss Fielden. You don’t have to worry—I’ll see she takes it, because she deserves it. No one—” she added, and there was a catch in her voice “—no one deserves it more than Janie does.”

“No,” agreed Miss Fielden. Her tone was thoughtful. “No, I don’t believe we could have found anyone who deserved it more.” She shook Mrs. Brown’s hand. “Goodbye. I’ll be around to fetch Janie at two-fifteen. Don’t you trouble to show me out, I can find my way.”

Janie and her mother were silent until the door had closed behind the visitor. Then they looked at each other and Janie said, her lips quivering, “Oh, mom! Is it really true?” She was suddenly, inexplicably afraid.

“Of course it’s true, love,” her mother told her. She drew her close. “You’re a clever girl, Janie, and a good one. You do deserve this and you’re going to have it, just the way they’ve got it planned for you, all of it! And the rest of us are going to Southend, thanks to you. I’ll ask Mrs. Moss to take over the laundry. She always said she’d do it if I wanted her to and—why, Janie—” she looked down at Janie’s face “—you’re crying!”

“So are you!”

“Well—” Mrs. Brown’s arms tightened around her “—it’s the shock, I think. And because I’m so happy for you—and proud of you. Fancy my Janie winning a competition like that! My Janie, a real-life Cinderella!”

“I don’t feel like Cinderella,” Janie confessed. She buried her face against her mother’s thin breast. “Oh, mom, I know it’s silly but—I’m frightened. The thought of it—that ship, all those foreign ports, I—”

“Your dad will be able to tell you about them.”

“Yes, I know. But it’s not only that, it’s—well, it’s—”

“What is it, love?” Mrs. Brown prompted.

Janie raised her face, met her mother’s understanding gaze and sighed. “The girls at the office,” she said wretchedly, “they don’t know I know, but they—they call me ‘Plain Jane’ and—I am, mom. I am.”

“I think,” replied her mother briskly, “that you can safely leave that to Miss Fielden, Janie. You aren’t plain, it’s just that you’ve never had the clothes or the time to worry about your appearance. You’re going to have both now. And I’ll warrant those girls at your office will laugh the other side of their faces when Miss Fielden’s finished with you. Well—” she smiled and gave Janie a gentle push “—we’d better get on and put things back as they were. Because I don’t suppose we’ll get any more springcleaning done this year. We’ll be too busy giving Cinderella her send-off!”

Janie hugged her. “Bless you, mom! All the same, I wish you were coming with me. Honestly.”

“You won’t, love,” her mother assured her. “Not when you meet your Prince Charming, you won’t.” She began, with unnecessary vigor, to plump up cushions. She was so happy that the tears were coursing down her cheeks.

CHAPTER TWO

DURING THE TWO WEEKS that followed. Janie found herself entering a new world.

Under the expert guidance of Sonia Fielden. she visited fashion houses that, before, had been only names to her; she spent her lunch hour in beauty parlors and hairdressers’ salons; she was photographed, feted and transformed.

The transformation, because it was gradual, was less of a shock than it might have been.

Janie had never thought much about her looks, save to recognize, a trifle sadly, that they were unremarkable. She had pretty dark hair, with a natural wave, and her eyes—big and dark and widely spaced—were, she knew, her best feature.

But she hadn’t realized, until skilled hands set to work to cut and shape and mold and trim, how much beauty could be achieved by the high hairstyle. Her neat, dull bob became an exciting mass of shining curls, which framed her small, piquant face and gave it new interest and charm. Her complexion was good and clever makeup made it better; Jean, the assistant who attended her, was at pains to teach her how to use the contents of the wonderful cosmetic case that was part of her new outfit, repeating a dozen times the use to which each jar and bottle should be put.

“Your face is oval, see, and you want to emphasize that. Just as I’ve done. But you’re not the type to suit heavy makeup, so you want a light foundation and just a suspicion of rouge, here and here and here. No more than that. Now I’ll wipe off all I’ve used and I want you to try it for yourself. I won’t be with you on the ship. remember, so you must learn to do it on your own. Ready? The foundation first, very lightly . . . you mustn’t overdo it; you’ve got lovely skin. Now the rouge. . . .”

Useless for Janie to protest; Jean was kind but firm. They were all, Janie reflected happily, so kind to her. At Simon’s, where most of her wardrobe was being made, they were just as kind, from the great Jules Simon himself, with his gay, mocking blue eyes and his sardonic smile, right down to the sixteen-year-old apprentices in the fitting room, who watched, with bated breath and pins in their hands, as Janie paraded nervously before them in one after another of the lovely, exciting garments that M. Simon had designed for her.

The models—more human and much less aloof than Janie had expected them to be—taught her how to hold herself, how to walk and what to do with her hands. The workroom, fired with enthusiasm by her Cinderella story, stitched busily and made no complaints about working overtime in order that everything might be ready before the date of Janie’s departure.

And at home, her mother set herself out with gentle determination to make sure that neither work nor domestic commitments stood in her way. “What, ruin your new hairdo in all this steam?” she would scoff. Or, “Janie, your hands, love—you must keep them nice. Whoever heard of a Cinderella going to the ball with her hands red-raw?”

Argue as she might, Janie got nowhere; Mrs. Moss, a willing, hardworking soul, was eager enough to take her place in the kitchen and laundry, and when Janie cried indignantly that her Cinderella role would last only for the four weeks of the cruise and that she didn’t want to be cosseted, the entire family united against her and insisted that she was going to be, whether she liked it or not.

It was Sonia Fielden, practical as always, who suggested that her charge seek release from the office two days before she was due to sail, so that she might have the benefit of a full-dress rehearsal at Simon’s before packing her new clothes, swathed in tissue paper, in the handsome cabin trunk provided to hold them.

“You’ll want a chance to get used to the feel of them,” she said, “and I think if you want to return to your job when all this is over, it would be wiser—all things considered—not to wear any of your new clothes to the office. Because you never know—it might possibly cause resentment, mightn’t it? Among those who christened you ‘Plain Jane’?”

It already had, Janie reflected, sensitive, as never before, to the undercurrents that were stirring the quiet backwater that was the office of Harmer, Coates and Harmer.

Her good fortune hadn’t pleased the girls who had derided her. Nor had the fact that she had asked for— and been granted—an unpaid extension to her normal two weeks’ holiday. Always before, Janie Brown had been willing to forgo the odd day here and there since she never went away as the others did at holiday time; always before, if anyone had to stay back to finish an urgent letter or retype a lengthy deed, it had been Janie who stayed; she who gave up her lunch hour if old Mr. Harmer wanted tea made and sandwiches brought in to him, or old Mr. Coates decided, at one o’clock, that his dictation couldn’t wait until the staff had eaten.

It was a shock to the office to find that Janie, after five years of unselfishness, had suddenly and surprisingly ceased to be available at lunchtime or in the evenings and that old Mr. Harmer and old Mr. Coates, far from objecting to this, seemed actively to encourage it.

She had decided, after talking the matter over with her father, not to confide the full extent of her changed circumstances to anyone save her employers. But it was not in Janie to deceive, she had no practice in subterfuge, and besides, there were the press reports and the photographs. In no time at all her fellow typists had learned all there was to know, and their congratulations were tinged, if not in every case with malice, at least with a certain bitterness.

As Millicent Greaves, Mr. Coates’s secretary, put it, “Seems such a waste, somehow, doesn’t it, giving all this to a silly kid like our Janie? ’Tisn’t as if she’ll make use of it. Oh, my, if I had her chances! I’d come back from that cruise with a millionaire in tow—or an earl or a movie star. But Janie—” She had shrugged, Janie remembered, and made a face as she added, “Ten to one Janie’ll come back without a boyfriend at all. Or with some little nobody she could have met at home, if she’d had the gumption!”

These words, overheard in the staff cloakroom, hurt the more because Janie knew that they were true. She had been too wrapped up in her family—in her mother and their home and in the struggling little business they were trying to build up together—to give much time or thought to the acquisition of a boyfriend. Or, for that matter, to dances and clothes, which seemed to fill the minds of her contemporaries.

Yet, in spite of herself, she found that she was interested in the clothes that M. Simon was creating for her. As the day of her departure loomed nearer, Janie became more resolute. She would show them, she vowed. All of them, even Millicent Greaves. Deep down in her innermost heart she was very much afraid, but, warmed by the friendly encouragement of the girls at Simon’s, by Sonia Fielden’s anxious concern for her, and perhaps most of all, by her mother’s infectious enthusiasm, she hid her fears.

The day before sailing the dress rehearsal was held, for Mrs. Brown’s benefit as much as her own, in Simon’s vast, luxuriously carpeted salon. It was a complete success.

Janie knew, looking in the mirror and seeing herself in the lovely, well-chosen dresses, stamped with the hallmark of the great designer, that she had changed. The right clothes gave one assurance. And these were the right clothes; they were not, at first sight, striking— Simon had chosen soft pastel colors for her, had concentrated on lines that would emphasize the boyish slimness of her figure, on simplicity—but they were her, they were the new Janie, and she would not have had them otherwise.

When it was over and the beautiful clothes packed into their trunk, ready to be taken away, M. Simon himself came to escort Janie and her mother to the waiting taxi. His eyes were grave and no longer mocking as he offered Janie his hand.

“You go with my blessing, petite,” he told her, “and with my prayers. Enjoy yourself! But remain, I beg of you, as true to the real you as I have been in creating these clothes for you to wear. I have not changed your daughter, Mrs. Brown, though you may think I have. I have only—as the restorer tries to do with an old picture—removed the outer daubs that hid the true colors beneath. Do not imagine that I have done more. And come back to see me on your return. I will be eager to know how you have fared.”

He stood, a tall, impressive figure among the little crowd of women dressed in black on the steps of the salon, watching them drive away. His smile, Janie thought, was a trifle sad. But she was too excited to do more than register the fact. In less than twenty-four hours from now her great adventure would be beginning, and beside her in the darkness of the taxi, her mother breathed a happy sigh.

“Oh, Janie, love, I hardly knew you—would you believe it? I’m your mother—and I could scarcely recognize you! Those beautiful dresses, why, you looked a picture. You looked like one of the young ladies in the society magazines, honestly you did. I was so proud. And M. Simon coming with us to the door, shaking hands with us, just as if we were important people—the way he spoke to you! Oh, Janie . . . Janie, it is a dream come true and no mistake.”

“Is it, mom? Is it really, for you as well as me?”

“You know it is, love.” Her mother’s hand closed around hers and Janie felt the work-roughened fingers twined with her own, felt how thin they were, and her heart contracted.

“Mom, I wish you were coming. I don’t want all— all this, if you can’t have it, too.” Her voice broke and she was in her mother’s arms, clinging to her, as if she were again a child.

“There, Janie,” Mrs. Brown chided her. “Don’t you understand how happy it makes me, to think you’ve got all I’ve longed to give you and couldn’t? Sometimes.” she added, “sometimes, you know, it’s harder to receive than to give. But just you remember what M. Simon said—this hasn’t changed you, not the real you. Janie. Nothing could ever do that. Could it. Miss Fielden?” Over Janie’s bent head, her eyes met Sonia Fielden’s.

“No, Mrs. Brown,” Sonia agreed. “Of course not.” But she stifled a sigh. Her task was all but done. It only remained for her now to see her charge put on the boat train; then, although it was no part of her job. she had promised herself a last visit to the Browns. They, too, would be on the eve of departure—for Southend. She wanted, though she could not have explained quite why, to reassure Mrs. Brown. The part of fairy godmother was not, she reflected, an easy one to play; it had its responsibilities and its moments of anxiety. She wondered, as she met the question in Mrs. Brown’s eyes, whether, after all, the idea of the competition had been a good one. It had seemed so when she had originally suggested it to her publicity manager. It had attracted 8,710 entries, given the Graphic Theaters a great deal of useful publicity, and it had enabled her, personally, to wave a magic wand over Janie Brown and her nice, ordinary family. But . . . a good thing? Sonia sighed again, in uncertainty. That remained to be seen. Janie was a sensible child, a sweet unspoiled one. But she was a very young twenty-one, with no experience of the world, no experience of love. Her head—that small, poised, well-groomed head now resting on her mother’s shoulder—was full of dreams. And tomorrow . . . .

Janie sat up and faced her as the taxi sped swiftly through the traffic. “Miss Fielden. I—I do want to thank you for—for all you’ve done. For your kindness and— oh, everything. Only I—I can’t seem to put it into words. I just don’t know how to tell you what I feel.”

“Then don’t try, Janie,” Sonia answered. She bent and her lips brushed the girl’s soft cheek. Again she found her gaze meeting Mrs. Brown’s, but now she smiled. “Just enjoy yourself at the ball—Cinderella!”

The taxi drew up at last outside the little, unpretentious house that was Janie’s home. Lights burned in the downstairs window, and an instant later the door opened and Janie’s family came out to welcome them. The boys first—ten-year-old Tim, and Dennis, who was eight; Margaret, the thirteen-year-old schoolgirl; John Brown, Janie’s father, still in his overalls, for he had been working in the garden, his lined face wreathed in smiles as he helped his wife to alight. And finally Mrs. Moss, waving from the doorway.

They all looked happy, Sonia thought, relieved.

She followed Janie into the hall. Mrs. Moss waved a hand proudly to indicate the laden table in the living room, with its spotless, hand-embroidered cloth. “It’s all ready, like you said,” she informed Mrs. Brown, “except for the cake. I thought you’d like to bring that in yourself, seeing you made it.”

Mrs. Brown turned to Sonia. “I thought we’d have a little party tonight, a farewell party for Janie. I hope you’ll stay for it, Miss Fielden. We can start as soon as dad’s cleaned up. If you aren’t in a hurry . . . .”

“No,” Sonia assured her, “I’m not in a hurry. And I’d like to stay, Mrs. Brown. Thank you.”

They gathered around the table, a happy, united, excited family, and Sonia’s vague doubts began to fade. Cinderella, she thought, looked radiant. But she had her feet firmly planted on the ground. There was no need to worry.

She had almost ceased to worry when, at nine o’clock, the party broke up in order to go and inspect Janie’s new wardrobe. Mr. Brown saw her to the door. “You’ll be around,” he asked, “in the morning, to take Janie to the station?”

Sonia nodded. “Yes. At ten, Mr. Brown. That should give us plenty of time. But—aren’t you coming to see her off?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Mom thought it’d be better if we didn’t. I mean, we can’t live up to Janie’s new clothes, not really, can we? I didn’t say anything to Janie, of course, but in the excitement she won’t notice, perhaps. We’ll say our goodbyes here and leave you to see her onto the train. Just in case there are any reporters—”

“There won’t be.” Sonia promised. “I’ll see to that. And I think.” she added softly. “that Janie would want you to come, both of you. I hope you’ll change your mind, Mr. Brown.”

His smile spread until it lighted up his tired blue eyes.

“All right.” he told her. “We’ll be there. Good night. Miss Fielden. And thanks for all you’ve done. You’ve been a real fairy godmother to us. We won’t forget it. any of us.”

He offered her his good hand and Sonia took it.

“Good night.” she echoed, the last of her doubts vanishing. “Good night. Mr. Brown.”